Inside Westminster: Tales of Hubris and Betrayal No 4
by mrsordinary54
Summary: 'Spilling the Beans' is a parody of the shenanigans of the British political 'elite'.


INSIDE WESTMINSTER: TALES OF HUBRIS AND BETRAYAL

4

SPILLING THE BEANS

Mandy had decided, for once in her life, that being the centre of attention was not such a good idea. In Potty's office, she may be clever but there were sharper knives in this block and more ruthless than even she.

'Yes,' she had thought, 'exit stage left-hotly pursued by bear, hopefully.'

She'd applied for and got a job outside of the Westminster bubble.

'Mustn't keep shitting on my own doorstep,' the mantra of her best friend and only confidante sprang to mind.

She knew she'd got Potty just where she wanted him-gagging for more. Even she couldn't believe how much sex they'd managed to have over the course of their liaison. She now had him at the point where a mere glance would have him in a sweaty-palmed fluster. And he kept having to relieve himself in between times.

'Thank God for that small mercy,' she'd sighed. Even she was getting a little tired of his amour. Not bored, she assured herself, just tired.

Mandy had briefly returned to Potty's office to collect her few belongings, foregoing the offer of farewell drinks. Was she finally learning discretion, or was she actually scared of some of the vitriol that might be levelled her way?

Potty was hanging around, hands in trouser pockets, shirt tails out.

'She'd have to tidy him up when he was finally hers,' the thought crossed her mind.

But not now. That has nothing to do with fun-filled sexual allure and she certainly didn't want any hint of criticism or nagging to cloud his ardour. Not yet.

'What's up? Aren't you supposed to be in Committee Room 9?'

'Err, not sure…waiting for…' He tailed off, eyes focussed on her exceptionally low-cut, tight top.

'God, I'd like to bury myself in that,' he murmured to himself.

'Had they time for a quickie?'

Even he thought better of it than to leave a whole posse of pollies and press waiting any longer while he and Mandy….

'Same place? 9 tonight?'

'OK. But I can't stop long as mumsey needs calming down. Said I'd call down late and stay overnight. Dreading it, but it's got to be done.'

Now that he knew he was going to get his fill of Mandy later, Potty calmed down. He quickly checked his reflection in the handily positioned glass panel to ensure that his hair was perfectly and artfully tousled-so debonair, so relaxed a look, he often found it hard to tear himself away-and then he turned to his aide, who'd been hanging around trying to get Potty's attention.

'What's going to crop up?'

'The border. What are your views on the border?'

'Which border?'

The aide grimaced.

'The Irish…'

Oh, that one. But I thought there was only one percent of freight going over. So what's the issue?'

Potty had for once been listening to a nameless minister droning on at some previous meeting.

'Anyway, haven't they already got issues with cattle rustling and red diesel scamming over said border? Surely we can dump that one on the police over there. You know the RUC.'

The unfortunate aide just groaned.

He sauntered into the forum, only 15 minutes late. Which was quite good for Potty!

Questions, questions, so many boring questions to which he simply had no answer. He'd have to make it up as he went along-wing it, like he'd always done.

'Who knows? Who cares?'

These thoughts swirled in Potty's mind, along with how long he'd have to wait till Mandy and he could let rip.

'Being such a stud was actually getting in the way,' he thought. He'd have to check himself a little as he felt sure he nearly had the leadership battle stitched up in his favour.

'Harumphhhh blaa,' is actually what came out of his mouth. And nobody asked him to explain!

Not put off, an eager journalist asked, 'What are your views on the border?'

Potty was in a reverie, daydreaming about getting some ministerial post or other in Belfast. After all, hadn't they all been playing truant for over 600 days?

'Sounds like my sort of job. All play and no work, and you still get paid!' he thought.

'It's all to do with the Backside,' he inadvertently said, day dreaming about his last romp with Mandy.

'Back Stop,' his aide nudged.

Having a rather large arse himself, he found he couldn't get the image of Mandy's well-nourished derriere out of his mind.

'Slimmer flanked fillies just couldn't take a hefty mounting,' he thought.

'No, she's perfectly proportioned for my large member,' he chuckled. Checking himself and realising the conference had come to an end, he rushed off asking:

'Where's the nearest loo?'


End file.
